


Lead us not into temptation

by Agf



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Blasphemy, Corruption Kink, Demon Shane Madej, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent Fantasy, Lapsed Catholic Ryan, M/M, Roleplay, Shane's really a demon they're just roleplaying that he's a big bad, as opposed to a big nerd, not one of us is free from sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agf/pseuds/Agf
Summary: "It's obviously a demon thing. And I know you're on board with the eyes and the horns and the-" Shane waves a hand over himself, "-but this is different. This is me, specifically getting off on the thought of corrupting yoursoul."Look, having a demon boyfriend andnotroleplaying demonic sex just kind of seems like a waste, leftover Catholic guilt notwithstanding.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81





	Lead us not into temptation

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that this contains about 500 times more references to church than a pwp probably should. 
> 
> There’s more info on the dub-con tag in the end-notes, should you want it!

Ryan was raised as a good Catholic. It's why he used to go to Mass every Sunday. It's why he sent a real, paper letter home when he heard that their local priest was ill. It's why he actually props up the plaster Jesus figurine his mom sends him when he moves apartments, instead of relegating it straight to the trash. 

It's also why he’d initially had some... complicated feelings about the thing he has going with Shane. 

"C'mon-- Shane, not now," he gasps, batting his hands in the direction of the tousled hair tucked against his neck. "I have church. The christening." 

Shane doesn't pause, just licks a stripe over Ryan's thundering pulse point, tucking a smile against the damp skin. 

It's not the sex that gives Ryan complicated feelings. Honestly, his feelings about _that_ are very straightforward, as his current state can attest to. 

It's not that Shane’s a man, either. His family aren't like that - even before Ryan figured out how he felt, he'd known that wouldn't be a problem. 

It's more the fact that, when Shane finally lifts his head and meet's Ryan's stern look head-on, he does so with entirely blacked out eyes. 

"Are you not... tempted?" Shane asks, and his voice is raspy from sleep, his eyes crinkled at the corners with his own joke, as he drifts a hand down the centre of Ryan's chest and down below the sheets. 

"I don't have time," Ryan replies, which is so obviously not a 'no' that Shane huffs a laugh and leans back in to press more open-mouthed kisses against Ryan's neck, just firmly enough that Ryan can feel the faint scrape of his elongated teeth. 

It's also not a 'yes' though, so Shane doesn’t push it. He just leaves his palm resting over Ryan's lower stomach, a warm weight that shifts with his increasingly uneven breathing. 

"Shane," Ryan sighs. He shuffles so that he can get a hand on Shane's chin and guides his face up for a kiss, morning breath be damned. Shane's mouth is hot, like always, and his sharpened teeth prick gently at Ryan's bottom lip. 

Despite everything that says he shouldn’t, Ryan loves when the glamour slips. He loves the fizzy, almost-fear-but-not-quite feeling that settles as heat in the pool of his stomach when Shane drops such casual reminders about what he is. 

Ryan is also very aware that Shane knows this, so this whole act... It's not fooling anyone, buddy. 

"Shane," Ryan repeats, pulling back and doing his best to look stern. He mostly just looks cross-eyed from trying to focus on Shane's face this close, as well as flushed and bed-ruffled and turned on. "We're putting a pin in this." 

Shane pouts and pulls his hand back up above the sheets to lay over Ryan's racing heart. He looks vindicated. 

"Shut up," Ryan says, before Shane can get a word in. 

Shane props his chin on his hand and runs his tongue over his lips. "You should stay here," he argues. "It's one little christening. You're barely an uncle, they won't miss you too much."

"You _know_ that's a lie," Ryan points out. "I'm representing the Bergara clan. My mom would never forgive me." 

"It's for a baby! The baby definitely won't remember. You can just tell them you were there if they ever ask. Which they won't. Because again, _baby._ " 

"Not the point," Ryan grouches, annoyed that the arguments are slightly shaking his conviction. Not exactly thanks to the stunning logical prowess of Shane's early-morning rhetoric, but more because he clearly wants Ryan to stay. That's cute, and yes, tempting. 

But no. He needs to get up. He pushes gently at Shane's face until the demon flops over sideways and Ryan can wriggle out from under him and make his way to the bathroom. Shane laughs at the state of him - very _un_ churchlike - and Ryan flips him the finger before he goes to take a cold shower. 

This is a dance they've done before. 

Ryan has his suspicions about these playful little arguments. He suspects that, under the jokes, Shane is actually a little concerned that Ryan is going to hear one sermon too many - be particularly taken in by one preacher passionately arguing against evil - and not come back. Or worse, come back with that initial fear, or a bottle filled with Holy Water and a clenched jaw. 

It wouldn’t be an entirely unjustified fear. It had taken a while, at the beginning, for Ryan to set aside a whole childhood of faith-based fearmongering and trust that this, what they have together, is value-neutral-- no, value- _positive_ , regardless of what Shane is. 

But he’s there now. He’s _so_ there - Ryan needs Shane to understand that. 

When Ryan exits the shower, goosepimpled but clean (and, more importantly, soft), he finds Shane propped up against the headboard with his phone in his hand, looking as normal as they come. This, Ryan suspects, is also part of the anxiety package Shane would never admit to. The second stage of the pre-church routine: the normal-boyfriend act. 

He _really_ doesn't have the time for a debate, so Ryan keeps his mouth closed about this particular theory and concentrates on getting his suit on. Shane's phone beeps occasionally as he gains points in whatever stupid mobile game he's currently obsessed with. 

Only when he's finished getting dressed does Ryan realise that the beeping's gone quiet, and he stops smoothing his hands obsessively over his shirt and turns to face Shane again. "What do you think?" he asks. 

It's a selfish question, because Ryan knows that he looks good. In fact, he picked this particular shirt, which is a little too small, on purpose, because some of his older, distant cousins will be at this thing, and he wants to make sure he's giving off a 'living my best life' kind of vibe. Part of that is looking good, part of that is looking good and getting Shane to tell him so. 

"If you hold the baby too tight you're going to burst out of your shirt like the Hulk," Shane says, but Ryan doesn't miss the little bob of his throat and he smiles, pleased. 

"I'll be two hours," Ryan promises, then amends it to, "three, tops." 

Shane grunts, eyes back on his phone. Ryan narrows his eyes. "I will come back, Shane. I always do." 

That gets Shane's attention. He snaps his head up, a furrow in between his eyebrows. "I... know?" 

Ryan glances up at the clock - no time for this - but he's dug his fingers in and now he feels like he can't walk out and let this sit until the next family wedding. Or christening. Or - God forbid - _Christmas Mass._ "You always do this... weird thing, when I'm going to church," he says. 

He's rewarded with the sight of Shane's shoulders stiffening, a hint of tension passing over his frame before he consciously relaxes again and shrugs. "What weird thing?" 

Ryan raises his eyebrows. "This weird thing, man," he says. "What you've been doing all morning." 

"Trying to get into your pants?" 

"What? No, obviously that's not-- Wait, kind of?" Ryan says, then rushes to explain when Shane looks briefly stricken. "I just mean - you always try and convince me to stay behind! And then, when I'm about to go anyway, you do this whole ' _who, me? Normal human man Shane Madej?_ ' act. I see through it. That's all I'm saying." 

"See through it to... what, exactly?" Shane asks. He stands up, clearly deciding that this is a conversation that can't be had while he lounges in bed, and comes to lean against the other side of the door-frame. 

"You're worried I won't come back, or I'll have second thoughts or something, right?"

"That's not it," Shane says. Ryan wouldn't normally believe him so quickly, but Shane has a very _particular_ kind of shifty look on his face. It's the look of a man who's so close to being caught out, but who hasn't quite swallowed the hook yet. Ryan narrows his eyes. 

"But you are doing it. And there is a reason," he says, and watches as Shane shifts his weight to his other foot. 

Ryan exerts genuine effort not to break the silence that follows, because nothing is more likely to make Shane start singing than an awkward silence. He suspects it's a hangover from his improv days, buried deep within his psyche. 

"There might be," Shane says eventually, and Ryan's smile widens. Bingo. 

"So, why?" He prods. 

"It's the- the stink of it, all over you, I- I can't explain it," Shane says in a rush. He pushes a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "I can just tell. When you've been." 

Ryan hadn't been expecting that. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, then crosses his arms over his chest. "Church makes me smell bad," he repeats flatly. 

"What? No, I didn't say that." Shane's expression is the perfect balance of irritated and embarrassed. 

"You literally just said, and I'm quoting here, 'the stink of it.’" 

"It's not a bad smell," Shane hisses. 

Now that's intriguing. "It's a good smell?"

Shane sighs, and that hand goes up to his head again, messing with his hair. "It's not really a smell, I just can't... I don't know how to explain it to you. It's like you have this new, shiny layer, like a polish over you, all this righteous belief. It's here," Shane reaches over as if to touch the centre of Ryan's chest, then thinks better of it and drops his hand. "I can sense it." 

"Oh." Ryan's never thought that going to church might actually have a physical effect that Shane would be able to see. He rubs absent-mindedly at his sternum. It's true that he likes the services, likes the uplifting feeling of them, always did, even when he was young. He likes the comfort of going, and the familiar prayers, and when everyone's singing he guesses he does feel that warmth in his chest. The belief. "Does it hurt you?" he asks. 

They'd had that conversation early on. Holy water? _Yes._ Salt? _Sometimes._ Crucifixes? _Just don't prod me with one._ Prayers? _Nope._ Communion wafers? _When do you think I've had a chance to try those?_

Shane huffs a disbelieving laugh. "Your belief doesn't hurt me," he says. 

"Then why do you hate it? Is it guilt? Are you worried you're leading me astray? You're not exactly going to make me a non-believer," Ryan points out with a raised eyebrow and a wave that encompasses his whole everything. Then he wriggles his fingers at Shane, "Cat's kind of out of the bag on that one." 

Shane just blinks at him. He doesn't even voice a quip about Ryan's unfailing belief in ' _all kinds of bullshit. Orbs, even!_ ' like Ryan is expecting him to. Instead Shane just asks, "How are you genuinely still confused?"

"Because you haven't said shit except that church makes me smell like… like _righteousness_ and it's not bad!" Ryan huffs, then pauses. Oh. 

He looks at Shane's face. At Shane's very guilty-looking, shifty face. Huh. 

"You like it," Ryan says. 

Shane pauses. Then nods. 

"You _really_ like it," Ryan adds, surprised. "But you never - why wouldn't you just say?" 

"Because this is a demon thing, Ryan," Shane says, deflating. "It's obviously a demon thing. And I know you're on board now with the eyes and the horns and the-" he waves a hand over himself, "-but this is different. This is me, specifically getting off on the thought of corrupting your _soul_." 

Ryan hadn't exactly thought of it like that. The thing is, even though there's so much of Shane that he does understand now, there's even more that's still a mystery to him. The intricacies of demonic catnip are a little above his pay-grade. 

Now it’s there, though, the thought is well and truly embedded. He’d wanted a way to prove he was in this, long-haul style, he just hadn’t expected the chance to come up so soon. 

His _soul_. There’s some of that thrill again, some of that fizzy-fear, and underneath it an edge of guilt that Ryan hasn’t felt since he got his shit together over Shane’s revelation and refuses to look directly at now. 

"Could you? Corrupt my soul, I mean." 

"I wouldn't." 

"Yeah, no shit Shane. I know that, you idiot. I'm asking if you can." 

Shane smiles despite himself, before wrinkling his nose to think about it. "It would be difficult. You'd see any genuine attempt coming from a mile away. Not just for me, for anyone." 

That's the thing about Ryan. He's a believer alright - it basically shines out of him, it's half of what attracted Shane in the first place - but he's not exactly devout. The belief that has him jumping at shadows isn't quite the same as the divine shine all over him when he gets back from church. Shane wants, with a fierceness that almost hurts, to dig his claws into that brightness. 

And Ryan's an endless source, because he already knows what Shane is. Like he said, it's not like his faith will be shaken by the appearance of the devil. He knows about Shane, loves him, even, and still gets that shine. 

Ryan looks pleased with himself. He had suspected as much. It actually works in their favour, though he's not sure Shane has cottoned on to why he's asking yet. The thing is - if Shane _can't_ do it, and wouldn't want to actually do it anyway, but gets off on the idea... Well. That's practically a normal couple thing. This is what roleplay was invented for. 

"I'm going to go to church now," Ryan says, and it feels vaguely like he's hearing the words come from someone else's mouth. "I'm going to pray, and... sing hymns. Maybe even get blessed." Shane's eyes, when Ryan meets them, are very, very dark. "Then I'm going to come home, and hope there isn't a demon lurking here, waiting to take advantage of my new, highly-polished soul. Okay?" 

Shane looks shell-shocked. When he speaks, Ryan gets a glimpse of slightly pointy teeth. "I want- We need a word." His voice sounds hoarse. 

Ryan wets his lips, thinking. "Goldblum." 

"Are you sure about this?" Shane asks. “You don’t have to.”

"I’m sure," Ryan replies, and he is. The only thing that might stop him now is self-judgement over quite how badly he apparently wants it. A thrill of anticipation has his heart thudding faster against his ribs already. He's a little bit worried that he won't be able to concentrate during the christening at all. 

Shane nods and ducks down, pressing Ryan back briefly into the door as he kisses him gratefully, hard and fast. "I love you," he says, then, an octave lower, "Go to church." 

Ryan goes. 

*****

The christening is surprisingly better than expected. 

It starts slow, of course. Ryan is so distracted that he's worried that it won't work like usual. That he'll be thinking so much of Shane, and what's waiting for him at home, that he won't feel the benefits of church at all.

Then his tiny niece shows up, in her tiny, tiny white dress, and it's sort of hard to focus on anything else. He gets so wrapped up in the prayers for her future, the songs, the vows they all make to guide and protect her... He forgets any ulterior motives he had going in. 

It's only when he's bowing his head in front of the priest, the swipe of a thumb between his eyebrows and the muttered words of a blessing washing over him, that Ryan suddenly remembers, and it hits him like a stab in the gut. 

He can feel it, that same warmth that fills him, the thing Shane was talking about. He imagines it radiating outwards from him, a gold-coloured beacon that promises he'll be an extra-tasty find for any passing demon. For one demon in particular. God, he hopes Shane hasn't changed his mind, because Ryan is feeling warm for quite a different reason, all of a sudden. 

" _Amen_ ," the priest says, and Ryan gets the impression he's being prompted, like he's missed his cue. 

"Amen," he mutters back, and shuffles over to let his cousin take his turn, no longer quite able to meet the priest’s eye. 

*****

He stays for the food, because of course he does, and for the pictures so he has something to show his mom when she asks. Plus, it's his duty as an uncle, and Ryan takes that shit seriously. 

Yeah. He's going to owe his niece a really, really good gift for this. 

When he finally gets back to the apartment, three hours after he left, it's entirely silent. 

Ryan knows, though, that Shane is inside. And that's enough to make his pulse jump a little with anticipation. 

He gives himself a few moments to compose himself, to get his breathing back to normal, deep and even. To get into character. They've played around before, but nothing as pre-planned as this - just silly voices in bed, costumes; that memorable time that Ryan wore his Indiana Jones outfit on Shane's 'birthday', the time that Shane wore the _cheerleader_ outfit. 

Buoyed by those memories, Ryan unlocks the door and steps inside. 

Inside is empty. Oh, Shane's things are still scattered around, but the man himself is nowhere to be seen. Ryan doesn't call out for him, because he's pretty sure he isn't supposed to be expecting the demon in his home, in this scenario. 

As he carefully unlaces his sneakers (he can't just kick them off, they're dress ones) he hears the faucet in the bathroom switch on, then off again. He'd think it was broken, except then it happens in the kitchen, too, closer to him. Ryan hates himself a tiny bit for letting the horror movie tropes get to him so easily, but he can't help the shudder. 

"Hello?" he calls out. No response. 

Next the TV switches on, a quick burst of static, and Ryan wheels around to look at it. Then - a tap at the door behind him. This time, when he spins, he comes face to face with bottomless black eyes. 

Ryan stumbles back, heart in his throat. "Jesus!" 

"Taking the Lord's name in vain? Tsk tsk. And to think I haven't even started yet," Shane replies. 

He's shrouded in darkness, despite the fact the sun is still out, so Ryan can only see the outline of him. It's enough. He can see those eyes, and a flash of teeth. He stays rooted to the spot. 

When Shane steps forwards out of the shadows, Ryan gets the full effect. He's gone all out. His eyes are deep black, his fingers end in pointed claws. On his head, horns twist and grow larger as Ryan looks at them, creaking like wood, sprouting upwards in a graceful curve. 

The fact Ryan's eyes are wide and wanting has nothing to do with his acting ability. He always did like the edge of fear.

Still, he holds his hands out like he's trying to ward the demon away, looking around as if for something to protect himself with. 

"You don't have to be afraid," Shane coos, "I'm not going to hurt you." 

Ryan knows that. But he imagines he doesn't, draws in a shaking breath. The kitchen lights flicker, and he's so keyed up that he genuinely jumps. Shane looks smug. 

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he says. Ryan is reminded, suddenly, of all the instances Shane used those exact words to calm him down on night shoots. Something about his voice now, low and silky, means they don't have quite the same effect as before. 

"I think I do," Ryan disagrees. "I, uh, I want you to leave?” He gives himself a mental shakedown and tries again. He should have this _down_ , shouting at spirits has been paying his bills for years now. “Get out, demon!” 

Shane, to his credit, does a good job of not laughing. “That’s a shame. I don’t intend to do that just yet,” he replies. “In fact, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. I’m only getting started.” 

Ryan is very grateful that Shane is taking up the storyline torch here, because he doesn’t have the capacity to both plot _and_ be this horny at the same time. 

“Why?”

“I could feel you.” 

Ryan remembers, with a bolt of heat, that this is not actually fiction. “Then you know there’s nothing you can do,” he says. 

Shane grins, bends down to align their faces, and looks between Ryan’s eyes. “Well,” he says, “I like a challenge.”

Ryan’s not entirely sure how much of his reaction can be blamed on the anticipation that has been building all morning, and how much is down to a newly discovered weakness for cocky Shane. Either way, his throat clicks with sudden dryness when he swallows, and he’s pretty sure he can actually feel some of the blood he needs to power his brain diverting distinctly southward. 

“What do you get if you win?” he asks. 

Shane pauses for just a second before replying, but Ryan catches his eye and nods, encouragingly. Shane resettles his shoulders. “Your soul,” he says. 

Oh, there it is. The temperature of the room seems to raise a couple of degrees as Ryan meets Shane’s gaze face-on. He concentrates hard on that indescribable feeling in his chest, the golden feeling Shane had mentioned, imagines it draping over him like a blanket from head to toe - and he's only 80% certain he's imagining the tingling feeling in his fingertips. He opens his eyes and lifts them to Shane's. 

“You can't touch me," he says confidently. 

And oh- Shane looks _hungry_. His nostrils flare and he steps forwards like he can't help himself. When he grins, his teeth are pointed and dangerous-looking, like a shark's. "Why are you so afraid of a little touch?" he asks, stepping closer. Ryan edges back, keeping pace, leaving that bubble between them. 

_Space for Jesus,_ his mind supplies hysterically. 

Shane doesn't stop moving when he reaches Ryan. He steps closer until Ryan has nowhere to go - until he's flush against the wall and has to tilt his head back to see Shane's face. It feels like baring his throat to a predator. 

Shane leans down, slowly, slowly, until his lips are at Ryan's ear. "I can tell you want it," he murmurs.

Ryan groans. 

This isn’t- it’s not for him. This is Shane’s fantasy. It’s just that the line between ‘avid-believer fantasy Ryan’ and real life Ryan is getting blurrier already. 

The heat from Shane's body is mingling with that other heat, that probably-imaginary heat, and sweat prickles along his back, under his shirt. It feels much too tight, all of a sudden, though Ryan still jumps when Shane's palms press in at his waist. 

"Your lust tastes wonderful," Shane adds. Ryan feels the flat of his tongue lick a broad stripe up the side of his neck. Any other day and he might have pushed Shane away, laughing, and called him gross. Now it just makes his knees weak. He can’t seem to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"How long has it been?" Shane asks, and Ryan doesn't say 'two days' because he's pretty sure, in this scenario, they didn't get off together while slightly wine-buzzed after work drinks. 

"A while." 

Shane smiles - a genuine, fond thing that transforms into something lecherous when he catches himself. "I can help with that." 

"No, thank you." 

“So polite,” Shane laughs, and it’s partly his usual laugh, warm and amused. He schools his features back into something dark before he repeats it, and this time it’s the perfect mix of amused and condescending that gets Ryan’s cock throbbing in his fancy slacks. 

"It's okay to be tempted. Everyone is. This is nothing, in the grand scheme of things," Shane says.

"I'm not tempted," Ryan replies. He can feel another bead of sweat travel the length of his spine. Out of nowhere the memory of being a teenager at a Sunday session blindsides him: _You will always be tempted, but your faith will be there to catch you and bring you back._

He looks into Shane’s eyes, and feels the furthest from ‘back’ it’s possible to be. 

"Oh yes you are,” Shane argues. “I can feel it. Can't you _feel_ it, Ryan?" There's a strange sensation then, like a tugging thread in his abdomen, and suddenly Ryan wants nothing more than to crash forwards into Shane. To get hands on him, and be touched in return. An overwhelming wave of _want_ that momentarily blanks out everything else in his head. 

They're his thoughts, his desires, it's just like Shane has removed his internal resistance. Like Ryan can’t even remember why he was supposed to be resisting in the first place. 

He takes a shuddering breath and cracks his eyes open. Shane is looking at him like he's hung the moon. Ryan realises, belatedly, that his hands are tucked up under Shane's shirt and he swallows, not quite able to bring himself to pull them back. 

"That's it," the demon coos, softer. He traces a clawed finger down the length of Ryan’s cheek. "You only want to feel good, don't you?" 

Ryan finds himself nodding, mouth open as he pants. He just _wants_ so much, so badly. Desire’s so thick on his tongue he can practically taste it. All the possibilities, all the things he could ask for, crowd up behind his eyelids. 

Shane presses a thumb along his jaw, using his grip to tilt Ryan's head up. "Tell me you want it," Shane murmurs, "just say those words for me." 

_I do want it_ , Ryan's own mind whispers to him, _why deny it?_

Shane leans in a little closer, so close his mouth grazes Ryan’s when he speaks. “Feeling good isn’t a sin,” he whispers. “Say it.” 

Ryan almost laughs. There’s a faint feeling of hysteria somewhere under his breastbone. Because it is - of course it’s a sin. That’s every lesson he was ever taught. And he might not- not _believe_ _it_ anymore, but Shane is a _demon,_ and he’s saying exactly what Ryan wants to hear, and that’s the whole _point_. 

Shane is a demon - Shane can tell what Ryan wants, without him having to admit to it. 

He doesn’t have to ask. He doesn’t have to explain - this isn’t a confession. Shane can already tell. He can already feel everything. He isn’t going to lay Ryan out and flay him in the name of forgiveness, he’s just going to give him what he _wants_. 

“Oh fuck,” Ryan whines, unsteady, and Shane just brushes a thumb over his cheek encouragingly.

“Say it. For me.” 

“I want you,” Ryan says, almost a croak. He says it again, leans back just enough he can meet Shane’s dark, dark eyes. “I want you.” 

When Shane kisses him, his mouth is hot as a brand. Ryan clings to his shirt and kisses back, feeling out the sharper bite of his teeth, the persistent pressure where Shane is usually content to follow his lead. 

Shane holds him there like that, between his chest and the wall, until Ryan’s so lightheaded he feels the ground sway. Then Shane pulls back to watch him pant for breath, looking golden around the edges. 

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he says. His voice is a lilting thing, drawing him in. Ryan can see all the possibilities in his mind’s eye. His palms feel itchy, his slacks far too tight. 

“Anything?” He asks, throat bobbing. 

“Anything. That’s how these things work,” Shane promises - which is the dangerous part, isn’t it? Ryan’s vaguely aware of some faint alarm bell, drowned out under everything else, some old human instinct that screams ‘ _hesitate here, you don’t know what you’re asking for.’_

But he does, actually. 

“I want to suck you off,” Ryan says. “That’s- That’s what I want. First.” 

If Shane’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. He just grins wider, all pointed teeth, and begins to flick open the buttons on Ryan’s shirt. “Anything in the world, and you want to get on your knees for me,” he says. 

The tugging is still there, in Ryan’s abdomen. The pulsing, demonic thing that feels like Shane. The thing that’s louder by far than any lingering hang-ups Ryan has. A thing that says _whatever you want_ , _just say yes, I’ve got you, whatever you want_. 

“Yes,” Ryan replies. 

Shane steps back a half-pace, creating enough space between his own body and the wall for Ryan to sink down to his knees. Which he does, like a puppet with cut strings, as soon as Shane’s finished tugging his shirt off. 

“Beautiful,” Shane says. He rests one hand on the wall, the other in Ryan’s hair, a gentle weight. Then his mouth widens, all his teeth showing. “Oh, Ryan,” he says, as if in surprise at something he’s heard. Something he’s found. “Is this how you pray?” 

Ryan fumbles with the zipper, caught off guard by the question and the way it makes his body flare white-hot under his skin. 

“Shane,” he breathes. It is not nearly strong enough to be a complaint. 

Shane pauses for a second or two, clearly waiting to see if there’s any more, but Ryan just flushes deeper and goes back to tugging his pants open, pushing them down over his hips, and drawing his dick out. 

Then he pauses, looking up at Shane and waiting for the go ahead. 

Shane nods magnanimously, a calculating look in his black eyes. 

Ryan needs at least one hand for this, to do it properly, the way he wants to, but the other he drops to his groin with a barely concealed groan. It’s almost painful, the pressure of his cock against the zipper, but Ryan presses down with his hand and up with his hips all the same, rocking in small motions while he opens his mouth to guide Shane forward. 

“That’s it,” Shane sighs, watching Ryan’s lips move down, down, _down_. He sounds more like himself again for a moment, the performance slipping in light of the wet-heat-pressure of Ryan’s mouth. But it doesn’t last for long - and, really, the lines of performance are getting blurry. 

Ryan’s more aware, here in this moment, than he ever has been before, that Shane’s ‘normal’ is a performance too. Maybe even a bigger one than this. 

“Look at me,” Shane commands. He shifts his hips, drawing back from Ryan’s mouth only to push forwards again with a grunt. “Look at me, Ryan.” 

Ryan lifts his eyes up and blinks until the slightly hazy version of Shane clarifies. With the living room light behind him, he still looks like a silhouette, the outline of his horns against the light. Every time Ryan blinks, he can still see them behind his eyelids. 

“That’s it,” Shane repeats. He moves one hand from Ryan’s head to cradle his cheek instead. Ryan takes this for the tacit encouragement it is, and begins to bob his head. 

On every stroke, he can feel one of Shane’s elongated nails pressing against the delicate skin behind his ear. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Shane asks. He’s trying to maintain a detached tone, but Ryan can hear the waver in his voice. He chases after it, ducking down low enough he coughs, splutters, and has to lean back against the wall to catch his breath. 

“Greedy, aren’t you?” Shane comments, moving his thumb to push Ryan’s bottom lip down. “Come on. I want to see what all the fuss about having you on your knees is for. I don’t feel worshipped yet.” 

It’s filthy. It’s cheesy, filthy, porn dialogue, and it might as well have been lifted from Ryan’s subconsciousness. Has been. He makes a sound he couldn’t even describe and leans in closer, ignoring the prickle of tears in his eyes to get Shane’s dick as far into his throat as he can take it. 

“Fuck,” Shane breathes. He has his free hand resting against the wall now, curled into a fist. He can’t seem to help shifting his hips, chasing the hot clutch of Ryan’s throat, guiding him with the hand on his face. “Is this, _Christ_ , _Ry-_ is this how you kneeled for your blessing earlier?”

The dark feeling in him flips and tumbles in his stomach, like butterflies, and Ryan thinks, _oh, I could come,_ and then, in the same second as he thrusts up against his own palm, _I am definitely going to hell for this._

He could swear something in the corner of his vision goes golden - a sunburst flare - but it’s gone by the time he blinks the tears from his eyes. 

“ _Fuck._ Up. Up. Come on. Bedroom,” Shane orders. He guides Ryan’s head back, slow, so he can admire the string of saliva which, for a moment, connects Ryan’s bottom lip to his dick. Then he grasps his elbow with one hand and marches him through the apartment, leading him to the bed and coaxing him to lay back on the mattress. 

Shane makes quick work of the rest of Ryan’s clothes, dumping them in a heap on the floor. Ryan just lays back and lets him, still panting slightly, something deliciously subservient in the way he shivers all over when Shane runs a clawed finger down his chest. “How do you feel?”

“Like I want to come.” 

“How badly?”

Ryan’s thighs twitch further apart. “ _Badly_ , Shane.” 

“Hm.” Shane drags out the note. “What if I told you the damage wasn’t done yet?” His eyes are heavy on Ryan’s. “This deal of ours - it’s reciprocal. You could back out now. If I don’t make you come, you walk away clean.” 

Ryan’s stomach tenses, the flex of muscle there momentarily drawing Shane’s eye. “What are you- what are you asking me?”

Shane lifts one shoulder in a shrug. It feels, once again, like he’s seeing too much. Seeing the things Ryan won’t admit to, and making him voice them. 

“Do you want me to stop, Ryan?” He draws his thumb over the head of his cock, the black of his elongated nail against the red. “Because if you want me to carry on, you’re going to have to ask for it. How badly do you want it?”

Ryan’s head hits the pillows again. He breathes out, short and low, towards the ceiling. He gets the message loud and clear. Here it is, if he wants it: the emergency exit. The parachute jump for the sake of his soul. 

His cock is throbbing. 

“You’re enjoying this,” he says. 

“Of course I’m enjoying this.” Shane runs his palms up Ryan’s thighs. He looks, for a second, almost apologetic. “It’s no fun if the decision is _easy_.” 

Ryan can feel sweat in the crooks of his knees and on the back of his neck. He can feel something pulsing in his abdomen that could be arousal, could be Shane. 

He wants, he wants, he _wants_. 

He flicks his tongue over his dry lips. Jumps - no parachute. Fuckin’ _DB Cooper’s_ his way into temptation. “Make me come, Shane.” 

Shane doesn’t hesitate. He curls a hand around his cock and squeezes, then leans down and steals Ryan’s groan straight from his lips. 

For all that, it takes almost no time at all for Ryan to slam his way right to the edge of orgasm. With every hot, slick pass of Shane’s palm, every twitch of that dark feeling rolling in his gut, his self-control drops away. Soon it’s all he can do to press his hips up, desperately meeting Shane’s fist, his hands curled in the sheets beside him. 

“That’s it. Give it up to me,” Shane coos. He’s a little uncoordinated, his other arm flexing as he strokes himself simultaneously, but Ryan gets the sense that this doesn’t matter. That Shane’s pleasure stems, in this moment, far more on making Ryan tip over the edge than it does on his own touch. 

“Fuck,” he grunts. His heels dig further into the bedsheets. “Jesu- Shane, Shane-” 

“Good catch.” 

Shane’s eyes look very, very dark. Ryan reaches up and unsteadily grips him by one horn, tugging him down, until Shane’s the only thing he can see. When he grins, wide and breathless, Ryan just sees teeth, teeth, teeth. 

His stomach flips, fear on arousal on affection, and he comes with a shout. 

Behind his screwed-closed eyes, he sees gold stars, gold sparks. 

He feels the moment stretch on unnaturally - feels it the moment Shane comes too, the wetness on his thigh. In the come down, with a system full of endorphins, he realises he no longer feels abnormally warm, or feels that dizzying temptation that had been Shane’s doing. 

When he checks back in, Shane is curled against his side, gently patting Ryan’s chest. Ryan gives himself a brief mental pat-down, just to check - but if he’s been condemned for eternity, he doesn’t feel any different for it. 

Actually, he mostly just feels buzzed out and sleepy and _accomplished._ Like he wants to reach back through time and tell the Ryan who’d shut himself in a salt-lined apartment for three days after Shane revealed himself to stop obsessively googling Latin exorcisms and consider instead the orgasms he could get out of it. 

He also knows that’s not the point at all. The real point is this: there is come cooling on his thigh; his demon boyfriend is breathing gently against his chin; and Ryan can tell now, if he concentrates, that the patterns he’s drawing against his skin are actually letters… 

O - V - E - Y - O - U 

...and thinks of blessings again. 

At some point he realises that he’s no longer holding a horn, just resting his hand in Shane’s hair, and he tugs gently at the strands. 

Shane lifts his head. Brown-eyed again. “Okay?” he asks. He sounds a little unsure. A little drunk, too. 

“Yeah.” Ryan tugs again, harder, until Shane shuffles up enough to give him a kiss that turns lazy and slow. “That was a very- thorough- corrupting, I'd say,” he pants when they part. 

Shane hums in pleased agreement, full of a buzz he can't explain in human terms. 

They lay in silence, breathing together, enjoying the literal afterglow, until the stickiness starts to bother Ryan and he rolls away to fetch a washcloth. Then he draws up short. 

“Did you… turn my Jesus statue around?” Ryan asks, turning back from his chest of drawers, where the icon his mom sent is conspicuously facing the wall. Shane snorts, turning his face from the pillow just enough that Ryan can see the glint in his eye. 

“Didn’t really feel like JC’s kind of afternoon,” he says, unrepentant, and grins even wider when Ryan fails to bite back a laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dub-con warning for: use of a thrall to better ‘tempt’ Ryan & the plot of the roleplay being temptation/convincing an initially-reluctant partner. Also a discussion of Ryan feeling torn over whether to back out of the sex in order to ‘save his soul’ (in context of the roleplay).


End file.
